


pay it forward

by suisei (nanakomatsus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mentions of other national babes, roommates thats all, special miya twins and sakusa app
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:24:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanakomatsus/pseuds/suisei
Summary: when bokuto puts up a flyer for a room for rent, he isn’t expecting ushijima wakatoshi to show up at the front door about five hours later, drenched by the rainstorm, asking if it's still available.





	pay it forward

**Author's Note:**

> i love these two so much. soundtrack: [palette town - fast forward](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tm5oRb7GyH0)

 

 

 

**ROOM FOR RENT !!!**  
**2 BEDROOM 1 BATH 3RD FLOOR**  
**CONTACT: 090xxxxxxxx (BOKUTO KOTAROU)**

 

The flyer is written with a sharpie, obviously low on ink, as the writing begins to fade halfway through the phone number stated. And below, in size 500 chicken scratch,

 

**URGENT !!! HELP ME !!! PLZZ ! I PAID THE DEPOSIT !!! >.<**

 

-along with little doodles of various crying emojis, drawn on with more care than anything else on the recycled yellow page. He pastes the flyer, patting it down ferociously against the lamp post right out front. With a satisfied nod to himself and an unnecessarily loud ‘that should do it!’, Bokuto turns on his heel and heads back up the stairs, stomping his way up to his unit.

 

Not even an hour later, the sky begins to darken unnaturally fast and a few minutes after the first gale passes through, rattling the window, it starts pouring violently.

 

He lets out a cry of anguish and positions himself by his bedroom sill, eyes narrowing on his flyer, watching it shake like a leaf in the wind. Amazingly, it stays stuck for the first hour. And the hour after that. Reassured, he goes to the kitchen and fixes the fastest cup of ramen he can and returns to his spot. The flyer is still up.

 

The storm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon. It’s okay, he tells himself with half-hearted determination, he’s got till Friday, at least. It’s Tuesday now. These things take time. He sucks in a breath.

 

But what if no one shows up and he’s evicted prematurely and he’s stuck with no place to sleep while his deposit money burns and he can’t afford any food and he ends up starved on the street, dying before his first semester even begins-

 

He falls asleep with his spotless ramen bowl resting on his stomach, its comfortable warmth settling through his shirt.

 

It’s the thunder that wakes him. He sits up with a start, the dirty bowl rolling off his body. He catches it just before it reaches the floor, god that would’ve been a disaster- it was one of the only two he brought from home. That’s when he picks up the buzzing of the intercom fighting its way through the noise of the steady rain.

 

With a surprised yelp, he scrambles to the front door, almost breaking a finger in the process of answering.

 

“Yes?”

 

The sound is terrible. He can hear the wind howling, except that it translates into mere noise through the speaker. After a static-filled moment, a reply finally comes.

 

“Is the room still available?” Comes a somewhat deep male voice, though impossible to be sure because really? Is the rain really lasting this long and being this loud?

 

Bokuto barely stifles a hoot of triumph.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there!” He calls out. Not that the person on the other end can hear him. The intercom’s switched off abruptly as he flings the door open and flies down six flights of stairs to greet the hopeful roommate.

 

 

 

When Bokuto practically tears the main door off its hinges, he isn’t expecting a completely drenched Ushijima Wakatoshi with his two luggage bags stood on either of his sides looking for all the world like a beached sailor what with the disastrous state of his hair and clothes. His usual calm expression is marred by a deep frown. Bokuto can practically see the steam radiating off his body. All he can do is open and close his mouth in shock, resembling a particularly offensive species of koi.

 

Ushijima’s eyes grow darker.

 

“May I.” And it’s not a request because he’s been stood out here in a _rainstorm_ for ten minutes, jabbing at the doorbell and he’s definitely going to catch a cold right before school starts _amazing-_

 

Bokuto blinks, coming to his senses, Ushijima’s deep baritone merging with the thunder up above telling him to snap out of it, and rushes forward.

 

“God sorry, yeah yeah let me-”

 

 

 

The warm shower helps a lot.

 

Ushijima finds a bowl of steaming ramen waiting for him on the dining table, along with a decent-sized rice ball. Bokuto’s parked on the floor, occupied with trying to hook his laptop up to the television.

 

“Rent’s 45 for this month and 40 after. It’s a clean split. You okay with that?” He calls out to the Miyagi country-fella. Ushijima begins eating.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Cool.” Then, “Ah- got it!” The screen flickers to life, Bokuto’s desktop filling the void. Ushijima briefly catches a glimpse of his wallpaper - a selfie of the ace and his former team - before it goes dark again, a ‘plugin unsupported’ message claiming its spot at the center. The other man lets out a howl of frustration, holding his head in his hands.

 

Ushijima inhales another mouthful of curry goodness - as much as he’s beginning to regret forsaking his meticulously-planned diet, _it’s been a long day,_ he tells himself. He deserves this much.

 

He spots (and hears) Bokuto ambling over out of the corner of his eye. The golden-eyed man pulls out a chair and heavily deposits himself at the other end of the table.

 

“So…” he begins casually, folding his knees so he’s sitting cross-legged now.

 

“Tokai right?” He begins, recalling their last conversation from about half a year ago, after their last U19 national meet. Ushijima nods. Bokuto smiles; it’s genuine and a little muted. Blame the weather. It’s still raining out. It’s a pleasant pitter-patter now, though.

 

“Same here!” He beams, and Ushijima’s eyes involuntarily flit to the windows, half-expecting the clouds to part and for the weather to clear up anytime now. It’s happened before.

 

 

 

(It was during a friendly in Osaka.)

 

(Ushijima will never forget the beautiful sight of a pool of gold appearing smack in the middle of the snow-covered field outside, just as their final set ended.)

 

 

 

“I met Shinsuke earlier at the convenience store. He’s in Engineering,” he says. Ushijima hums, vaguely recalling the name from the Inarizaki coverage at Nationals last year and Atsumu’s rambling about his captain.

 

Bokuto straightens suddenly, holding his hands out before him.

 

“Let’s see,” he begins, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Aran’s at Chuo, Kuroo’s at Hosei…”

 

Ushijima listens in silence as his roommate rattles off names, counting them off his fingers, and finishes the last of his meal with a whispered ‘thank you for the food’.

 

“-you’re welcome!” Bokuto interrupts himself, throwing the other man a satisfied grin and a thumbs up to which he is given a little nod in reply before continuing where he left off, not minding that Ushijima’s now left him to go wash up the dishes.

 

 

 

The rest of the evening is spent with Ushijima unpacking and Bokuto trying to figure out how to set up his PS4 console. They order in for dinner. Ushijima finishes his chicken breast salad on the couch, watching the other as he battles a boss in some kind of fantasy game. He doesn’t know which one it is.

 

“Wanna Mario Kart?” Bokuto stands above him, a controller thrust forward, a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Ushijima looks up at him from his phone, blank-faced, before accepting the offer.

 

They play until midnight with Ushijima winning five out of nine games.

 

“One mooore!!!” Bokuto pleads, wrapping his arms around the taller’s torso, refusing to let him leave. Ushijima lets out an annoyed grunt from the back of his throat, ignoring him and getting up to leave anyway even if it means dragging Bokuto to his room with him.

 

 

 

“Just to even it out!”

 

 

 

Ushijima wins six out of ten games and stands up to leave right after.

 

Bokuto sits on the floor, completely dejected, head hung low. Sighing, Ushijima presses a light pat to the nape of his neck as he passes by on the way out. It’s warm and comforting. Bokuto’s head snaps up, rather surprised by the affectionate gesture.

 

“Go to sleep. Grocery shopping tomorrow,” the Miyagi native says without much energy, suppressing a yawn. Bokuto breaks into a grin.

 

“You could make that hayashi rice you like so much,” he chirps.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Before drifting off, Ushijima wonders in the back of his mind how in the world Bokuto remembers that about him.

 

 

 

Bokuto’s alarm is what wakes him the morning of their first practice with their new team.

 

_-fighting dreamers! takami wo mezashite-_

 

Ushijima stirs from his sleep almost immediately. It takes him a long second to process the music coming from the room across the hall. Letting out a tired groan, he wills himself to get up and check his own phone. 4:31 a.m. He gets the shower first today, then.

 

Bokuto still isn’t up when he gets out. Leaning down, he brings his face as close to Bokuto’s own as close as he possibly can.

 

 _“Bokuto,”_ he thunders, mustering up all the energy he can gather at this ungodly hour.

 

At first, it begins to look like the other isn’t going to budge and Ushijima actually considers watering him (like what they did to Kiryuu back in camp). But then, he jumps up, somehow managing to freeze mid-air before coming to his senses. It’s an extremely delayed response, but at least he’s up. Ushijima nods, satisfied with the outcome, and walks out of the room without saying anything more.

 

He’s already got his shoes on and proceeds to unlock the front door when Bokuto comes rushing out, running down the hall, jumping on one leg trying to put his socks on.

 

“Wait up, Big Guy! Jeez, you really don’t give a damn-”

 

“I woke you up-”

 

“-and I like that- sure, thanks!” Bokuto comes up to him with a grin and a wink, clamps his hand down on Ushijima’s shoulder and proceeds to pull his shoes on, using his roommate as a stabilizer.

 

“First day, Big Guy! If we’re early then we can leave a good impression, right? Let’s go! Try to keep up!” He calls, clapping him on the back with more force than necessary before swinging the door open, punching a fist to the air and nyoom-ing down the stairs.

 

Ushijima locks up on behalf of the both of them before jogging down in the wake of the loud booms of his roommate’s footsteps.

 

 

 

Bokuto, for all his loudness and just general all-over-the-place-ness, is not the headache Ushijima was expecting. He’s clean, is what he’s saying. He does his chores and tries his best to pick up after himself. He’s not the type to pile on clothes and let them heap up till it funks up a stink in his room.

 

But - he just isn’t the neatest person around.

 

“Wakatoshi, have you seen my knee guards anywhere?” He calls from the living room as he surfs through the channels, obviously not making any effort to look for them.

 

“No,” Ushijima answers curtly, concentrating on his cooking. It’s gyudon and tempura with salad today. Fruit juice. Make sure the fridge is secured before they come-

 

“They’re here! I’ll go get them,” Bokuto announces and leaves to greet their guests.

 

“Don’tcha got any alcohol around here?”

 

Atsumu sticks his whole head in the fridge, scrunching up his nose as he searches around, like a hawk eyeing its prey.

 

“You’re underage,” Ushijima notes gruffly, setting the table. The setter twists his face in annoyance, still bent on finding the stash.

 

“So are you,” he fires back just as a magazine comes flying towards him.

 

“Shut up,” Sakusa hisses, eyes never leaving the screen as his fingers do all the work on the controller. Beside him, Osamu smirks as he dodges yet another hit.

 

“What he said,” his twin adds.

 

Dinner is enjoyable nonetheless. Ushijima feels proud watching them scarf down the food he’d prepared.

 

“Why don’t you ever cook like this on normal days?” Bokuto whines, spitoons of rice flying about. Sakusa cringes, moving his bowl out of harm’s way.

 

“Could we hire you sometime?” Atsumu inquires, digging into the rice pot for a second serving, and it’s genuine. Ushijima shrugs.

 

“Depends on how much,” he replies flatly. The whole table pauses. The silence is broken by Bokuto who guffaws, more pieces of food flying out of his mouth.

 

“It’s always such a surprise when Ushijima makes jokes like that,” Osamu says with a lopsided smile.

 

“Unlike someone here with a stick up his ass all the time,” Atsumu chimes in, casting a sidelong smirk at the Itachiyama ace.

 

“You want one up yours?” Sakusa hisses threateningly, glaring daggers.

 

A bowl of mochi is placed at the center of the table. The four of them are about to pounce, but Ushijima keeps his hands on the lid.

 

“Play nice,” he warns, the authority in his voice making it hard to disobey.

 

Ushijima wins at Mario Kart against all of them.

 

Bokuto and Atsumu lay flat on the floor, both despondent and moaning. Osamu’s fallen asleep, head thrown back against the cushions, mouth slightly agape. Sakusa’s absorbed in his phone.

 

“A rematch,” Bokuto whispers loudly, holding a finger up from his spot on the floor.

 

Ushijima hums thoughtfully and throws him a controller, an amused smile playing on his lips.

 

 

 

“I could beat you in a sprint!” Bokuto says later, crossing his arms over his chest, pouting as he leans against the door frame of their shared bathroom.

 

“Sure,” the taller says, mouth full of toothpaste.

 

 

 

(He does.)

 

(Ushijima makes it a point to get back at him the week after that.)

 

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ushijima likes Tokyo. He likes the noise, the constant buzz of energy. It gives him the little extra push he needs to run longer than he normally does. The neon lights are invigorating, beckoning to him to chase after them. He likes that there is always something new that pops up the more he wanders around on his morning and evening jogs.

 

“We could walk around tonight!” Bokuto offers as they head to the showers after a particularly gruelling training session. He hums in ascent before his thoughts are drowned out by the cool rain of water against his skin.

 

It is winter, one week before the new year, when Bokuto learns that Ushijima is absolutely shit at holding his drink.

 

Right now, the Young Giant’s slouched on the countertop, forehead resting on a piece of sushi. Bokuto chugs his beer in a couple of gulps, smacking his lips and letting out a satisfied belch. He nearly loses it upon seeing Ushijima passed out cold beside him. With not a care in the world, Bokuto plucks the sushi from his forehead and pops it into his mouth.

 

Clapping his hands together, he announces ‘alright, let’s do this!’ to the whole restaurant and lugs his roommate onto his back. When he pays, the waitress offers to call a cab for them but _no it’s fine we’re just three blocks away, see ya soon Mai-chan!_

 

“You owe me a meal, Big Guy. Next time a little heads up before you faceplant so we don’t harm the food, eh?” He says breezily as they trudge through the slosh. When they finally reach their building, Bokuto opts to take the elevator up. He’s not suicidal.

 

When they reach Ushijima’s room, Bokuto lets him down, rolling his shoulders back, groaning. Right then, Ushijima’s axis tilts as he collapses onto his bed, taking Bokuto down with him.

 

The silver-haired man seems to resign his fate to whatever devine forces had cause this to happen, sighing. _This is it, this is my life now,_ he thinks to himself, _being crushed by my drunk roommate I could scream right now and no one would hear, this is really how I die-_

 

But Bokuto Kotarou does not accept defeat. _Never!_ So he does what he does best.

 

He brings his arms around Ushijima’s shoulders, encircling him and begins to absently pat at his back, rubbing circles. Ushijima lets out a sigh, shifting his weight so he’s now only half-lying on top of Bokuto, who chuckles.

 

“Yo, Wakatoshi,” he tries, a sly smile forming.

 

“Wakatoshi, Wakatoshi, Ushiwaka, _Wakatoshiii-”_

 

“Shut up,” comes Ushijima’s voice, husky and slurred, as he presses his weight down, entangling Bokuto’s legs with his own.

 

“Sure, Wakatoshi,” Bokuto placates with an airy laugh.

 

He doesn’t miss the small smile pressed into the nape of his neck just as he succumbs to exhaustion.

 

 

 

The ball connects. It’s theirs.

 

But it’s long and it could possibly, very well, not be theirs after all.

 

It goes up over his head and there’s no way for him to get it right- it’s too high. And then he hears thunderous footsteps and loud exclaim as he hears the ball bounce off at just the right angle, right into the waiting palms of their setter.

 

It's theirs.

 

“Go for it, Wakatoshi!” Comes a roar from behind him, propelling him forward, like a gust of wind under his wings.

 

And it comes to him in a long, perfect arc, like the sun rising, reflecting off the earth’s surface. And he’s the force that will collide with it, birthing stars and planets. He feels good right now, swinging his arms back, like a swan, like a great big white eagle - free and just and powerful.

 

Power he is, he thinks with a smirk and the first contact is like a splash of water on a hot summer day. The burst of energy a millisecond after, is - in Bokuto’s words - a Kamehameha.

 

And the sound it makes after, is like the crack of a whip and a shock of lightning all mixed in together.

 

His fingers tingle.

 

His ears are ringing.

 

He turns just in time to see Bokuto barrel into him, the rest of their team following suit.

 

And his smile - all teeth and bright and blinding like the sun and dimples deep as the ocean and eyes upturned like crescent moons - is one he hopes to see many times more.

 

 

 

(He does.)

 

 

 

Outside, the clouds part, and sunlight begins to filter in.

 

 

 

“-and it was like BAAM!!! Y’know?! Good shit!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you smiled! It was like, scary, I mean I’ve seen you smile before but like, you smiled at me! That’s heavy stuff, man-”

 

Ushijima presses a long kiss to Bokuto’s lips.

 

“That’s also some pretty heavy stuff, Wakatoshi,” he says with a satisfied grin. Ushijima quirks an eyebrow.

 

“And?” He probes with a small, quiet smile.

 

“And it made my heart go like, AHHH!!!”

 

“Good.”

 

Then, “One more?”

 

“Sure.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> was really inspired by the [special new year's illustration](https://twitter.com/haikyu_com/status/1080786327572889601) . it's precious.


End file.
